


help me hold on to you

by sapphictomaz



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Not Beta'd, Red String of Fate, Relationship Study, The Infamous Hanging Scene, also i still dont know how to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-29 22:17:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20089660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphictomaz/pseuds/sapphictomaz
Summary: Each time Murphy almost dies, Bellamy must figure out how to move forwards. Fate has other plans.





	help me hold on to you

**Author's Note:**

> biggest thanks to sarah, jen, and elle for always hyping me up and giving me support. for this one, special shout out to sarah, because the red string of fate with this pair is entirely her idea.
> 
> the title is from "the archer" by taylor swift.

**“Parting - such sweet sorrow, right?”**

**in the beginning;**

_ Sometimes, Fate gets bored. _

_ She carries universes in her palms, and yet, this is not always enough. Sometimes, she looks at the red tendrils floating all around her and examines each one, carefully and closely. Some are straightforwards; some stretch for miles. Most are tangled up in each other, so much so that the pathways become unclear. _

_ She wonders when it all got so messy. _

_ Fate already knows how each one of them will begin, and how each one of them will end. Perhaps, she thinks, this is why she is always so bored. _

_ In the beginning, there is Fate, alone with so many red strings to pull. But it’s too fun of a game to play by herself, and there is never any harm in adding extra players - especially not when she can see the outcome. _

_ There is one string that she watches closely. It stretches for both miles and centuries, completely intertwined on itself, yet so fragile. She lets herself focus on this individual string, and watches as several points hold so taut that it threatens to break.  _

_ This one, this pair, they are doomed, sentenced to a life of strife and struggle - but there is a reason she is here, and Fate has never been one to back away from a challenge.  _

_ She approaches the first near-breakage, humming under her breath. “Trying to part, are you?” she says, tearing the string in half before working quickly to tie it back together, much stronger than before. “I believe there’s a reason that’s called sorrow.” _

_ Sometimes, Fate gets bored, but she has a feeling she won’t be for much longer. _

**match one;**

The moment after Bellamy kicks the ground out from under Murphy’s feet, he feels the most chilling sense of calm.

Behind him, the crowd roars in delight, exhilarated to have their taste for blood quenched. It was never about Wells - most of them despised him. It was never really about the knife, either, or Murphy - not really. It was about their freedom. Their newfound ability to say  _ I would like this person to die now, please _ and then to make it come true. 

It’s as if Bellamy’s watching events pass frame by frame as he stares up at Murphy, hands tearing at the rope and eyes screaming in agony, begging for  _ somebody _ to save him, because clearly the one person he trusted won’t be coming to his rescue. 

He can’t feel Clarke’s presence next to him or hear what she’s saying. He can’t  _ do _ anything. In the moment, he knew he had to side with the feral crowd, because if he chose to help Murphy then it would be just the two of them against what has become their entire world.

Now, though, as he stares into the eyes of his first victim,  _ just the two of them _ doesn’t sound so bad.

He can’t keep track of events that unfold, but someone cuts Murphy down and he’s alive, somehow, still breathing in what must be toxic air. Bellamy does absolutely nothing to help, even then. Even then, when all of it is said and done, he can’t overcome the sense of guilt that festers in his chest. 

Despite how quickly it passed, there was a definite moment in which he was sure that Murphy was dead, and while he isn’t sure why it is that he  _ cares _ so much, he is very sure that this is not what he meant when just a day previous, they were yelling “whatever the hell we want” side by side in the firelight. 

The words taste sour on his tongue, and he knows he has failed.

**take two;**

Bellamy banishes Murphy from camp, not because he’s trying to impose any sense of law, but because he’s scared of what he’ll do if he allows Murphy to follow him back. He’s afraid to admit it, but he thinks he’ll kill him. 

He’s not a morally pure person, let alone a just one. In a different world, he may have acted exactly as Murphy had when the truth about Charlotte was revealed. 

But in this world, when he looks at Murphy, all he can feel is the reminder that  _ he failed him _ . He’s responsible for everything that Murphy does beyond this point, because he’s responsible for turning him into this person. It’s that simple. 

_ My mistake. My responsibility.  _

He doesn’t think he’s strong enough in character to see Murphy every day and be reminded of his failure, and the pain that he intentionally inflicted on another human being. He doesn’t think that he’ll be able to do that for eternity, let alone another day. 

And so he banishes him, fairly confident that he won’t make it through the night. As he watches him disappear in the woods, Bellamy feels something inside of him snap.

**rule of threes;**

He returns from Mount Weather, leaving Clarke behind at the gate. Despite the victory, something feels wrong, and he can’t quite place it. 

“Are you alright?” Kane asks him, sometime later. 

At this point, he thinks he knows what he’s looking for, but he’s almost afraid of the answer. “Yeah,” he says, “but, have you seen Murphy around anywhere?”

Kane’s face tightens, almost imperceptibly so. “You didn’t hear?”

“Hear what?”

“He left with Jaha and some others, a long while ago, now. They were off to find the so-called ‘promised land.’”

“ _ What _ ? How long ago? When are they coming back?”

Kane lets out a long sigh. “Bellamy...it’s pretty unlikely they’ll ever come back.”

He’s dead. Murphy’s dead, and he didn’t know, and he didn’t do anything to stop him from leaving on a suicide quest in the first place. With the realization comes recognition of the feeling he’s had since the return - loneliness. 

The last time he saw him, really  _ saw _ him, was at the cliffside, when he could have let Bellamy fall but he didn’t - he did everything that he could to save his life, and when it really counted, Bellamy did nothing to return the favour. 

“Parting,” he whispers to himself, before he can hold it in. He can’t breathe past the sobs threatening to escape from his throat, but he knows that what he is feeling really is the sweetest sorrow.

**number four;**

It’s been a while since he felt this way. 

Strangely, it feels like he’s back in the moment where they hanged Murphy as he stands in the open field, ship behind him, waiting for Monty, Murphy and Emori to cross the horizon. Just like back then, he knows Clarke is yelling but he can’t hear her over his own thoughts and the possibility of Murphy’s untimely demise. 

He’s not getting on the ship without them. Clarke can yell and scream all she wants, but he’s not. He won’t become that person again.

There is a moment, though, when his confidence falters. There’s no sign of them (of  _ him _ ), and he wonders if there ever will be. He could be lying dead in that gorge, or worse, he could have decided to stay behind. 

There is a moment where Bellamy is sure, yet again, that Murphy is dead. He doesn’t know how many times he’s been in this situation, but it’s getting far too high for his liking. It’s not so much that he’s “failed” if he couldn’t save Murphy - it’s that he’s lost without him. 

He doesn’t know why that’s true, either. If he had the time, he could stop and think of all possible explanations, and why he  _ cares _ so much, but he doesn’t know. He just does. He  _ cares _ , and he knows that if he loses Murphy, now, in all this, then he will not be able to go on. 

Less than a second later, he sees them in the distance, and these thoughts are forgotten for a moment.

**five fold;**

Russell announces that Murphy’s “dead already,” and what’s left of Bellamy’s heart breaks. 

_ He did this. He, alone, did this. It’s his fault. _

He loves Murphy, in one way or another. He’s not good with words - he can’t describe it past that. But he knows, as he stares down at Murphy’s body, that nothing will ever be quite right, not if Murphy’s no longer a part of his life - of  _ any _ life. 

“Death is not the end,” Russell announces, and the breath Bellamy lets out is telling.

Later, when he returns to the bar and sees Murphy sitting there, very much alive, there is so much more than a simple apology in his words when he says  _ I’m sorry. _ He’s sorry for what he did - but he’s sorry that this isn’t the first time. 

He’s sorry that he knows this won’t be the last time that Murphy’s life is on the line, either, and he’s sorry that he isn’t  _ sure _ it won’t be his own fault.

**triple six;**

Sanctum is lost to a cloud of green toxin. Non-believers and the devout fight to claw each other’s eyes out first. The Children of Gabriel are here, somewhere, lost in the fray, and Bellamy’s sure the Primes are out there, hiding from the carnage. 

Except - except for  _ him _ .

Stepping out of the shadows is Murphy, except - it can’t be. This -  _ person _ , whoever they are, looks like Murphy, but they’re wearing Sanctum clothes, meant for Primes. Bellamy holds out hope for a second, thinking maybe someone here just looks a lot like Murphy, but he is not that naive anymore. 

“No,” he says, audibly, drawing not-Murphy’s attention. And then - even though he should refrain - he is  _ angry. _

_ “No!” _ he shouts, running forwards, grabbing not-Murphy by the shoulders, shaking him slightly. He can’t bring himself to do any more, because even though he knows it can’t be, he’s still looking into Murphy’s eyes. “You  _ monster! _ You killed him!”

“Bellamy-”

“You  _ murderer! _ I’m going to kill you! I’m going to  _ kill you _ for this!”

Not-Murphy smiles, then, in a way that is  _ very much Murphy. _ “It’s sweet to know that you care, Bell,” Murphy says, softly. 

“No,” Bellamy says again, but this time, it is meant much differently. “You mean - it really is you, isn’t it?”

This time around, Murphy doesn’t partake in his usual sarcasm. He, too, feels the gravity and emotion of the reunion. “Yeah,” he says, “it’s me.”

Overcome with emotion, Bellamy takes him in his arms and pulls him close, feeling Murphy’s head rest in the crook of his neck, feeling his permanent presence. For once in his life, he’s not dead. 

The thought is so funny yet so harrowing that Bellamy doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s still not thinking coherently when he draws back, placing his hands on Murphy’s cheeks, feeling every inch of his  _ very real _ face, drawing him in for a  _ very real _ kiss. 

“I hope this isn’t because of the toxin,” Murphy says, breathless, and Bellamy just laughs from deep within. 

“No,” he promises. “I think I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

“Me too,” Murphy replies. They aren’t given a reprieve, and just as Bellamy allows himself to believe in the possibility of  _ forever _ , there is the terrible sound of a gun cocking behind them and the  _ click _ of the safety.

One of the Children of Gabriel stands behind them. “Death to Primes,” they whisper.

Murphy pushes Bellamy to the ground before he even registers that the trigger’s been pulled.

**the end;**

Bellamy holds Murphy against his chest and he lays dying.

A battle rages around them. He can hear Emori screaming; Echo races by in a charge to war. Yet even as his body shivers and threatens to quit, his gaze finds focus in Bellamy’s eyes, red-ringed and full of regret. 

“You’re going to be fine,” Bellamy’s whispering, “Murphy, you’re going to be alright.” It’s a mantra he repeats, on loop, as if afraid of the devastation that will hit as soon as he lets it drop. 

“Bell,” he says, but then there’s blood in his mouth. Bellamy’s got a hand pressed against the wound but both of them know it’s not enough. There’s no use pretending, not anymore.

“No,” Bellamy replies, cradling Murphy’s head close to his chest. Murphy’s face feels wet, and it takes him too long to realize that he’s not crying, but Bellamy is. “No, this isn’t how you go. This isn’t how it happens.”

He takes a moment to comprehend his surroundings, to feel the air on his skin and the ground beneath him. He’ll never get another chance. Through it all, through the chaos in the background, there is Bellamy, a hand on his head and a hand on his chest, looking angelic in the red light of the sun. He thinks, while he can, that angels should not cry.

“Bell,” he tries again, trying to lift a shaking hand up towards him. When he sees this, Bellamy bites his lip in conflict, and then resigns himself to indulging Murphy’s wishes during his final moments, rather than try and keep fighting the inevitable. He lifts his hand off the wound and grabs Murphy’s raised one, squeezing it tight.

“I’m so sorry, Murphy. I’m so sorry.”

The edges of his vision fold in on themselves, but Bellamy’s eyes remain ever so clear to him. “Parting,” he says, but then a cough wracks his frame and there’s just too much blood. 

“I know. I know, it’s okay, I know.”

“ _ Parting _ ,” he repeats, squeezing Bellamy’s hand until he can’t anymore, “is such - such sweet sorrow.”

Bellamy’s face tightens then crumples, but through the tears that fall, he closes, “I shall say goodnight till it be ’morrow.”

Despite everything, a smile falls onto Murphy’s face. His vision fails, the last sight he sees a glimpse of Bellamy’s perfectly silhouetted, illuminated face. He thinks that if he has been given a moment so peaceful at the very end, then somewhere along the line he must have done something right.

**the epitaph;**

_ Sometimes, Fate makes mistakes.  _

_ She watches cords get cut all around her, every which way. Her time is spent perusing the lines that envelop her and circle around the universe, waiting to see which ones get tangled up so tight they snap, and which ones fray away.  _

_ This time, though, she thinks she should have been more careful.  _

_ Gently, ever-so carefully, she picks up two loose ends and ties them together, watching as the loose ends fall away into dust, and the stronger end of the string picks up the slack for the weaker side. Gently, the two ends knot and join, the evidence of the abrupt breakage almost lost to the eternal void.  _

_ It will take time, of course, and lots of it, but that’s the biggest tool that she has at her disposal. Perhaps it’s naive of her to try and fix her own flaws, but this pair she has watched for years and years on end. She’s too invested to stop trying and make it right. _

_ It’s a messy system - but, she thinks, from now on, it could be a little less boring. _

_ “Til it be ’morrow,” she echoes, her words washing over the cosmos. As she speaks, the red string in front of her cements its bond. Not all things are meant to break. _

_ Sometimes, Fate makes mistakes, but she is always there to fix them. _

**the ’morrow;**

Somewhere, thousands of years later and miles away from where they last touched, a boy named Bellamy asks a boy named John on a date. 

“And what would a night out with you entail?” is the response. 

“Whatever it is that we want,” he says, and the words have never sounded so good.

**Author's Note:**

> this is a mess. it really is a mess. the plot changed from a million different things to this, and then it kind of ended up being just no plot. i hope you liked it regardless.
> 
> if you like, come talk to me on twitter @sapphictomaz!


End file.
